Dawn found the city wrapped in gold.

Skyla lay coiled across rooftops and streets, her body encircling entire blocks like a living horizon. Towers vanished beneath her curves; highways dipped under the immense weight of her resting form. Her breathing was slow, deep—each inhale lifting city-sized coils, each exhale settling them back into place.

Her belly dominated the skyline.

It rose like a smooth, glowing hill, faintly pulsing as it settled and shifted, evidence of the night’s excess. She rested one hand against it, fingers sinking slightly into its warmth, eyes half-lidded and unfocused.

Tiny figures—those who had helped, those still under the spell—stood scattered at the edges of her coils, gazing up at her in quiet awe.

Skyla chuckled, long and lazy, tail tightening just a bit more around the city as if to keep everything exactly where it belonged.

“Good crowd,” she murmured to no one in particular.

Above her, the last stadium lights flickered out.
Below her, the city slept—held fast in the coils of a lamia who had finally, completely, had her fill.